


Body of the Sanctioned

by Belladonna_Q



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark Sherlock, Elemental Magic, M/M, Mages, Magic, Pool Scene Divergence, Prompt Fill, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belladonna_Q/pseuds/Belladonna_Q
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s struck, terrible sparks of pain, and they tumble as he hears a curse from Sherlock as they hit the edge and roll. The pool, and chlorine fills his lungs and he struggles, denied of air, so very frightening, and it’s Sherlock clutching him now.</p><p>--<br/>A/N Death tag is not for our boys. *clings to them*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body of the Sanctioned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrettyArbitrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyArbitrary/gifts).



> Tumblr prompt fill: Prettyarbitrary asked for "sff Sherlock AU. Urban fantasy, maybe there are mages or elementals?"
> 
> One hour writing exercise.

There’s a blast, and John feels the air shift moments before. He’s a sylph, a spirit of wind, and controller of air, tied and bound to human form. And yet, he can’t snuff it, can’t stop it, can’t redirect it— _we’re too close, Sherlock, we’re too close_ \-- and the fear pierces his heart at the reality of what will be created as the Semtex vest detonates and the blaze barrels, rolls and roars in vibrant persimmon and gold.

It’s too quick, too sudden and the fire breathes deep the air, and heats, scorches and blisters and John rises and leaps, clutching him, clutching Sherlock as the combustion passes over him.

He’s struck, terrible sparks of pain, and they tumble as he hears a curse from Sherlock as they hit the edge and roll. The pool, and chlorine fills his lungs and he struggles, denied of air, so very frightening, and it’s Sherlock clutching him now.

“John, John. Be calm.” Sherlock’s voice, clear as a bell, speaking to him as he thrashes, bubbles leaving his lungs as he struggles to relax, to trust. Sherlock, an undine, spirit of water _\--together we make a storm--_ speaking to him and holding him under and John feels the panic. He tries to launch himself, desperate for air, unable to hold his lungs still for any human amount of time. He opens his eyes, stinging and blurry, watching through waves as blood tinges the water, dark ruby swirls and just beyond, Sherlock’s face, eyes wide in shock.

He tries to kick, involuntary and panic stricken—he can’t.

Sherlock pulls him to his breast, sealing their mouths and exhaling deeply into his lungs.

John succumbs.

* * *

He opens his eyes, blearing, the form above him dark and blurry but the careful, sweet touch on his chin, his neck—

 _“_ Sherlock _.”_ A rasp, and Sherlock’s touch goes from six-to-midnight, no longer tentative now powerful and grasping. Desperate.

“ _John_.” The sound of relief is frightful, and Sherlock clutches at John, hands running over his arms and legs, calves and elbows. He’s smiling wetly as he presses a hard, dry kiss to his temple.

John tires to swallow, but his throat scrapes with protest, tight and dry and he coughs at the dust and flame in the air.

“What… what happened?” He manages as he clenches his hands, assessing.

“We’re alive.” Is what Sherlock says, and he smiles a horrible smile that makes John’s gut clench.

“Moriarty?” He asks and the smile doesn’t waver, but the eyes shutter dark.

“Dead.” Sherlock pulls back and John lifts his head, propping himself up on his elbows as he sees the body, shredded of clothing, black and disfigured, limbs bloody, leg missing—

“We need to get up and out. We need to re-bond and police will be inbound, surely.”

“Le-Lestrade…” John shivers now, shock taking him briefly with the chill of soaked clothes.

“Can’t.” Sherlock says, pulling a mobile from his trousers. “Can’t repair the damage, unfortunately.” To illustrate his point, he tilts as water drains from the device.

John nods, winces and Sherlock reaches for his arm and shoulder, helping him stand.

The sylph pauses as he focuses on white flecks in the air, _chalk-dust,_ and slick concrete. He glances to the flooring as Sherlock hauls him up, hands shifting from John’s waist to his back, holding him steady as he urges him forward.

The ground, smudged now from John’s form having rested upon it, smeared with chalk and blood, but the sigil formation was undeniable.

_A transmutation circle._

John whips his head at Moriarty’s twisted form, surrounded by scratched white lines and blood, limbs disfigured, mangled. His left leg is severed and missing entirely.

“Oh Gods,” John utters, a horrified wisp of air. “What did you do, Sherlock? Gods,  _what did you do_?”

“I understand the laws of equivalent exchange.” No inflection, no hesitation, as the undine holds him tighter. “I knew what I was doing. I did what I had to do.”

John’s gut pitches but he allows himself to be led, stumbling over broken pillars and brick and metal, as they make their way.

He’s shivering now, wracking with anxiety but he’s outside, finally, and he inhales deeply. Fresh, clean air fills his lungs, unspoiled and unmolested as Sherlock sheds his coat jacket and wrings it, water sputtering to the grass.

“We must reseal our bond.” Sherlock says, as he drops his coat to the ground. “Your vessel is now contaminated.” He motions and John sits, left leg aching, and settles himself on the grass. He looks out across the lot, past the streetlamps and parked cars as blue and red lights flash, emergency services on the scene.

“John, look at me.” And John does, shoulders still shivering as Sherlock kneels before him and runs a hand through his damp hair. “We survive, John. Together.” And John nods as Sherlock leans and kisses and pushes him down to the grass.

_We’re alive._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> belladonnaq.tumblr.com


End file.
